


devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes

by iwasfollowingyou



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: (not really relationship but it's an established something), Alcohol, Awkward Romance, Canon Compliant, Episode s02e06: Argestes, Established Relationship, Implied Sexual Content, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Pining, Roman Roy is Gay, Secret Relationship, Smoking, Sneaking Around, Stewy Hosseini has a Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:41:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23952475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwasfollowingyou/pseuds/iwasfollowingyou
Summary: “Think anyone noticed?” Stewy asks, scratching the side of his nose.Roman shakes his head. “Those people don’t notice shit. Besides, what’s there to fucking notice?” He holds out the cigarette.Stewy takes it. “Ah, Logan Roy’s son sneaking off with the guy who’s trying to buy his company out from under him?” he offers.(or, the missing scenes of season 2 episode 6, "argestes")
Relationships: Stewy Hosseini/Roman "Romulus" Roy
Comments: 10
Kudos: 42





	devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes

**Author's Note:**

> you know i've spiraled because i made a playlist for these two that has several mitski songs and taylor swift. i wish i could say i'm sorry but i really have no regrets. cruel summer is, unfortunately (?), THE romanstewy song.

The Roy family is about the most conspicuous group of people that Stewy has ever had the displeasure of knowing. Even walking into a room filled to the brim with people who could purchase a small country, Logan Roy still presents himself as the king. Old style business—the walk, the suits, the voice, the demeanor. It makes Stewy want to puke.

And, of course, his squires, trotting obediently at his heels. Kendall looks just as uncomfortable as he always does; Stewy doesn’t know exactly when he developed that full-diaper walk, but it certainly isn’t going away any time soon. Stewy’s eyes scan over the rest of the entourage as he lifts his glass to his lips and laughs to himself. What a fucking circus.

He turns back to Sandy and puts a hand on his elbow. “I’ll be back in a bit. Try not to kill anyone while I’m gone.”

Sandy glances over his shoulder. “No promises.”

Stewy hands his empty glass off to a passing waiter, brushes some imaginary dirt off of his jacket, and heads for the stairs. There’s space upstairs that overlooks the room, providing a birds-eye view of all of the corporate fucks who have come here to suck their own dicks. Stewy grabs another drink—the second of what is bound to be several—and leans over the polished wood railing.

His eyes scan across the room, picking out familiar faces, matching them to familiar names that anyone with less net worth than Stewy would kill to get into a room with. Logan Roy is standing with Kendall and Tom What’s-His-Face. Their poorly-concealed discomfort gives Stewy a sick twist of pleasure. It’s fun to watch them all trip over each other to make themselves important. He’s never been more excited to watch a group of people rip each other apart.

Finally, he catches sight of the last Roy. Roman is standing off in the corner of the room, glass of wine in hand, rubbing the back of his neck as he talks to Gerri. Stewy swirls his own drink around in the glass before lifting it back up to his lips. 

As if he can sense that someone’s watching, Roman glances nervously around the room, eyes flicking between faces like he’s a rabbit that’s just realized it’s surrounded by coyotes. He looks up to the balcony and catches Stewy’s eye. Stewy quirks an eyebrow and lifts his glass. Roman mutters something else to Gerri, then walks away, squeezing through clumps of people to get back to the entryway.

Stewy meets him outside on one of the decks—a huge expanse of “natural” wood, logs stretching up to a vaulted ceiling designed to look like an actual woodsy retreat. They don’t speak as they walk towards a treehouse-esque building over a bridge.

Stewy lights a cigarette and leans against the railing, eyes fixed on the forest.

“Oh, fuck you, c’mon,” is Roman’s greeting. Stewy half-smiles and hands him the cigarette. Roman takes a drag, then closes his eyes as he blows the smoke out in one long stream.

“Think anyone noticed?” Stewy asks, scratching the side of his nose.

Roman shakes his head. “Those people don’t notice shit. Besides, what’s there to fucking notice?” He holds out the cigarette.

Stewy takes it. “Ah, Logan Roy’s son sneaking off with the guy who’s trying to buy his company out from under him?” he offers.

“Nah.” Roman glances at him, then looks away. “They don’t notice anything unless it’s actively handing them a wad of cash. We could fuck in a coat closet and they’d have no fucking clue.”

Stewy tilts his head and raises an eyebrow. “Is that a proposition?”

“Fuck you.”

He lifts the cigarette up to his lips, keeping his eyes on Roman. He’s shivering slightly, shoulders hunched, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket while he bounces on the balls of his feet. His gaze moves constantly—glancing at Stewy for half a second before looking back to the trees, then at the other buildings, then back the way they came, as if scanning for enemy soldiers. Stewy takes another drag, then taps the cigarette on the railing.

“How have you been?”

Roman glances at him. “Fuck off.”

“What was wrong with that question?”

“ _What was wrong with that question?_ ” Roman repeats back mockingly.

Stewy shakes his head and looks away. “Haven’t seen you in a while, Rome. I’m genuinely asking.”

“Well, I’m perfectly fucking dandy, thank you.”

Roman is a bad liar, but Stewy lets it slide. When Roman reaches out for the cigarette again, Stewy lets their fingers touch. He hates the spark of electricity that travels down his spine. It hasn’t even been that fucking long. He saw Roman in New York a few weeks ago. Stewy’s apartment, a few drinks to follow the countless shots they had each taken at whoever’s fancy party they both happened to be invited to. Stewy can’t remember the name.

“Did you get the itinerary?” he asks.

“Yeah, what is this, fucking summer camp?” Roman laughs shortly. “Ah, yes, let’s take all of these fucking billionaires on a nature hike so they can understand the true beauty of our world. Don’t mind the cocksucking taking place beneath the waterfall, they’re all just trying to acquire as much shit as they can so that they can feel more important than the rest of you plebeians.” He holds the cigarette back up to his mouth as he says, “Fuck this, man.”

“I didn’t know you would feel so strongly about it.” Stewy takes the cigarette back.

Roman shrugs. “It’s all bullshit. But I like the copious amounts of alcohol.” He glances at Stewy, seeming like he’s about to say something else, then looks away.

“I thought you wanted to be the next king,” Stewy comments. “Or is that no longer the plan?”

Roman barks out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, no, fuck that. It’s not gonna be me. Never was. I was a goddamn idiot for ever thinking it would be. My dad would make a Labrador in a suit CEO before he ever got desperate enough to pick me.”

“Rome, c’mon,” he starts, trying to be sympathetic. “You never know what’s actually going to happen. Seriously, is there anyone on earth that ever knows what the fuck your dad is thinking?”

Roman considers that for a moment, then shrugs. “It’s all bullshit.”

Stewy can’t argue with that. He flicks some ash off of the end of the cigarette, watching it float down onto the railing. He brushes it away, and it disappears into the wind. He hands the cigarette to Roman, then retrieves his phone from his pocket.

“I’m sending you my room number.”

“Oh-ho-ho.” Roman raises his eyebrows and tilts his head. “For what do I owe the pleasure, Mr. Hosseini?”

Stewy looks up at him with a blank expression. “I can delete the message.”

“You wouldn’t.”

He shrugs and keeps his gaze steadily on Roman, who rolls his eyes.

“Send me the goddamn room, dickwad.”

“Oh, _dickwad_. That’s a new one.” He hits send, and a second later, Roman’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out and scrolls through his other notifications.

“Shit,” he mutters. “I gotta go.”

“Trouble in paradise?”

“Gerri is on the verge of putting my dick into a clamp and hooking a leash to it to drag me around everywhere she goes.”

Stewy makes a face. “That was a visual I did not need.”

“Aren’t I just the most generous person?”

“You’re something, alright.” He takes the cigarette back from Roman, lifts it to his lips, then gives Roman another once-over. “I’ll see you?”

“If you’re lucky.” Roman sticks his tongue out and flips him off as he turns away and heads back towards the main building. Stewy places the cigarette between his teeth and leans over the railing, resisting the urge to watch Roman leave.

* * *

Just after he’s settled comfortably into his bed with a glass of whiskey on the nightstand next to him, there’s a knock on his door. Stewy groans and forces himself up, padding across the room in socked feet. He glances around the dark lounge and kitchenette, then flicks the lights on as he opens the door.

“Well, well, well,” Roman greets him in a terrible German-ish accent.

“Never fucking do _that_ again. Jesus Christ.” Stewy glances up and down the hallway before gesturing Roman inside. He shuts the door behind them. Roman takes off his jacket and throws it onto the sofa. “How’d you get away?”

“This isn’t high school, Stewy. I didn’t have to sneak out past my parents.”

“I thought Waystar might be hosting some late-night strategy meetings. Trying to figure out how best to navigate getting fucked in the ass. Or, you know, maybe you’re considering how to top when Pierce is about to whip out the bondage gear.”

Roman pulls a face. “I don’t know what the fuck any of that is supposed to mean. Do you have any alcohol?”

“Obviously. What do you want?”

“Whatever’s most expensive.”

Stewy mutters under his breath as he checks over the bottles, then grabs the same whiskey that he just poured for himself. He pours Roman a glass and hands it over. Roman takes it, and Stewy sits down on the sofa after shoving Roman’s jacket out of the way. Roman takes a few sips of his drink, eyeing Stewy suspiciously.

“What?” Stewy asks.

“Nothing.”

“Alright.” He waits a beat. “Rome.”

“What?”

“You look good.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“C’mon, what did I do now?”

“What did I do _now_?” Roman mocks. “Fucking—ugh, fuck you.”

Stewy can’t help but laugh to himself. Roman sits down on one of the armchairs, then immediately gets up. He walks around the room, muttering under his breath as if doing calculations. Stewy grabs his phone and checks his notifications. There’s a few texts from Sandy and a barrage of emails. He opens up Twitter and scrolls absentmindedly through his timeline for a bit.

“Hosseini.”

“Hm,” he responds without looking up.

“Business advice?”

Stewy raises an eyebrow, glancing up from his phone. “You’re coming to me—” He points to himself for emphasis— “your father’s worst enemy, for business advice?”

“Get off your high fucking horse, Stewy. You’re not important enough to be his worst enemy.”

“Ouch.” He locks the phone and gestures for Roman to continue.

“What if I propose like… an alliance? A team-up, an alliance, fucking brothers in arms bullshit whatever. With Gerri.”

“Gerri,” Stewy echoes. “Gerri Kellman?”

“Do you know any other fucking Gerri?”

He rolls his eyes. “Okay, so, an alliance. The two of you?”

“It’s not the worst idea, right?” Roman looks at him as if looking for approval, as if Stewy’s opinion on the matter is somehow important. He takes a swig of whiskey, then continues, “I mean, Gerri’s fucking smart. She’s smart, and she’s good at her job, and she does it quietly. She stays behind the scenes. My dad trusts her. It’s not… it’s not a _bad_ idea, right?”

“What exactly are you proposing?” Stewy puts his phone face down on the coffee table. 

“I mean, I guess, fucking…” Roman rubs the back of his neck. “CEO? Chair? One of us in each. Someone outward-facing to be, you know, the face of the company, and someone to do the actual dirty work. I’m the Roy, and I’m, you know, fucking awesome, and obviously my public persona is very popular and well-liked.” Stewy snorts. “Obviously Gerri would be good at handling the dirty stuff. She’s been handling that shit for decades. But I… fuck, Stewy.”

Stewy tilts his head and studies Roman carefully. “Roman Roy, CEO of Waystar Royco.” He shrugs, then says, “It has a nice ring to it.”

“So it’s not a terrible idea?”

“You want my honest opinion?”

“I didn’t take you to be one for honesty, fuckface.”

“Always ever so charming.” Stewy rolls his eyes. “Honestly? I think it would be best for you to just get out.”

“What?”

“Leave. Escape. Get out.”

“What the fu—”

“You guys are on the brink of going under, Rome.” He scratches the underside of his jaw and sighs. “I mean, if the Pierce deal falls through, it’s over.”

“Okay, except it’s not gonna fucking fall through. It’s done.”

“Right.” He lets Roman maintain the illusion for now. “I’m just saying, you have to be careful. The company’s been on the brink for what, a few years now?”

“Ever since you and your fucking cronies got together and decided to try to buy us out,” Roman snaps.

Stewy holds his hands up. “Whoa, Rome. You don’t have to be defensive about it, alright? I’m not—this isn’t a fucking attack on you. This is me saying that, when it comes down to it, you gotta look out for yourself, right? You need an escape hatch. You don’t have to be left going down with the ship. Waystar has been in trouble for years. Your dad isn’t willing to make the pivots he needs to keep it going. He’s going to fall behind. He already has.”

“What, and Kendall would’ve done any better?”

“He’s younger, at least.” Stewy watches Roman pace back and forth. “More willing to listen to new ideas. But I think that ship has sailed, dude. If this deal implodes, you don’t want to be caught in the middle of it.”

Roman drags his hands down his face, then sits down on the edge of the sofa. Stewy resists the urge to put a hand on him.

“Rome,” he says. “I just need—I think you should look out for yourself first.”

“You getting sentimental on me, dipshit?”

“Do the thing with Gerri if you think that’s best,” Stewy tells him. “I’m just saying, you deserve a way out that isn’t tied to your fucking dad. You don’t have to go down with him. You don’t have to be Kendall.”

Roman tenses slightly, and Stewy is pretty sure he’s about to get yelled at again, but Roman just shakes his head. “Fuck,” he sighs.

“You’re not an idiot, Roman.” If anything, he’s the smartest out of the three of them, but Stewy would never tell him that explicitly. “I know you know what you should do. There’s no surviving if you don’t put yourself first.”

“And if I do survive? Then what?”

“You’ll figure it out.”

Roman laughs humorlessly. “If I get out, and my dad goes down…” He lets the silence sit for a second. “I’ll be fucked either way. The company can’t go down. This is—it’s my fucking inheritance. Family fucking legacy, blah blah blah.” He waves his hands.

“Family legacy. And what did that get you?”

Roman is quiet again, which is unusual for him. Stewy studies his profile—the few stray hairs that have escaped his careful shaving on his cheek and just below his jaw, the shadow under his eye, the tension in his neck. Stewy doesn’t even bother to pretend that he isn’t staring. He could spend his whole life staring at Roman Roy, though someone could put a gun to his head and he still would never admit it.

“Can’t I do both?” Roman asks. “I can team up with Gerri, and then… then we can work on a fucking escape plan so I can run away with my tail between my legs when things go down the fucking toilet.”

“That’s not what I meant, Rome.”

“That’s what I heard, so, yes, it was what you meant.”

“You’re such a fucking brat,” Stewy tells him, and Roman makes a face. He reaches over and puts a hand on Stewy’s thigh, and Stewy can’t stop the shiver that races down his spine. As if he can sense it, Roman smiles innocently, eyes wide as if he was no clue what he’s doing. “Rome.”

“Yes, my dear?” Roman asks, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Are you going to talk to Gerri or—” He clenches his jaw as Roman’s hand slips between his thighs— “or not?”

“I think I will.” Roman leans in and presses a kiss to his jaw, then pulls away. Stewy lets out a long breath, glaring up at him. “I’ll go do that right now. No time like the present!” 

Stewy concentrates very hard on breathing, pretending that he isn’t a fifteen-year-old who gets hard from one single fucking touch. Roman fixes his hair in the mirror, then glances back at Stewy.

“Don’t enjoy yourself too much while I’m gone,” he says.

“Fuck you.”

Roman tuts. “So rude to me, too!”

Stewy has to bite his tongue to keep himself from making a harsh retort. “Will you just fucking go so you can come back faster?” he asks, and Roman smiles, slightly sinister.

“See you in a bit, Stew-Stew.” And then he’s gone, the door slamming shut behind him. 

Stewy groans and flops back against the cushions, staring up at the ceiling.

Roman fucking Roy. This man is going to be the end of him.

* * *

He’s quiet when he gets back. Stewy saves the reports he was scanning through, closes out of his email, and gets up to put his laptop into his bag. Roman unbuttons his shirt as he walks in, yawning.

“So?” Stewy prompts.

“I’m not telling you anything you could use against me in a court of law.”

“You’re so fucking dramatic.”

Stewy walks over and grabs Roman by the hips. Roman makes a sound that’s halfway between a growl and a laugh. He keeps trying to undo the buttons on his cuffs, but Stewy pulls him towards the bed until Roman stumbles and curses him. Stewy kisses his neck, and Roman smacks his arm lightly.

“What?” Stewy asks.

“You’re so gross,” Roman mutters. “Fucking needy little shit.”

“C’mon, I haven’t seen you in weeks,” Stewy whines.

“What, and you don’t have any whore you can stick your dick in while I’m busy?”

Stewy makes a face and pushes Roman onto the mattress. Roman lands on his back with a huff, but there’s a ghost of a smile on his lips as he looks up. Stewy leans over him and kisses the corner of his mouth. 

“You didn’t make me fly all the way to Argestes just to _not_ get a nice fuck in, did you?”

“It would be so fucking satisfying if I did. Can you imagine?

“Hm, I disagree.” Stewy undoes the last few buttons on Roman’s shirt. “That would just leave us both unsatisfied, Rome. Is that what you want?”

“You’re the worst.”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it all the time.”

Stewy gets into bed and gestures Roman towards him. Roman kisses down his neck, then scrapes his teeth lightly over Stewy’s skin. Stewy hisses and pushes Roman’s head away.

“Below the collar,” he mutters.

“Fuck you,” is the response.

“Roman.”

“What’s the fucking point of all your goddamned turtlenecks then, huh, asshole?” Roman looks up at him, a glint in his eyes that Stewy is all too familiar with. “Fucking pretentious douchebag in your stupid fucking turtlenecks.”

“I thought you liked the turtlenecks.”

“I think you look like a fag in them.”

“So you _do_ like them.”

“I plead the fifth.”

“Fuck you.”

“Yeah, hurry up with that.” Roman bites at his neck again, and Stewy curses under his breath. Yeah, he’s going to be wearing a turtleneck again tomorrow. He silently thanks his past self for packing multiple.

* * *

Roman curls up in a tight ball on the other side of the mattress, his back to Stewy. Stewy stares up at the ceiling, still trying to slow his heart rate. The dark has fallen over them like a heavy blanket. Only the sound of Roman’s breathing and the soft patter of rain against the window cuts through the silence. If he tries hard enough, Stewy can almost imagine that they’re the only ones here, that there aren’t people on every side of them waiting to see them trip up.

Sometimes, he lets himself wonder just how much people would actually care. It’d make headlines, sure, maybe. Definitely at least a few trashy tabloids. _Roman Roy, heir to Waystar throne, seen out with father’s self-declared enemy._ He can imagine the firestorm raining down inside Waystar. 

He glances at Roman’s back and sighs. He doesn’t even know what this is. He’d say he’s nothing more than Roman’s stress relief, but sometimes…

“Fuck,” he whispers into the dark.

Something like that could never happen. Beyond the optics nightmare, he knows it would put Roman in a situation that he couldn’t escape. Based on what he knows about Logan Roy, based on the things that Kendall and Roman have confessed to him, based on what he’s figured out from spending time with Roman, it could put Roman in a nightmare situation. It’s not about him, he knows. He’s never been less important.

He rolls over onto his side and stares at Roman. He’s curled up tightly, shoulders hunched in like he’s protecting himself. Stewy can see the bumps of his spine through his thin t-shirt. 

He shakes his head, sighing to himself. He isn’t quite sure where the fuck he went wrong, but he’s been careening down a treacherous path for a while now. He’s not the kind of person that makes a lot of mistakes. He calculates risks and rewards, considers every possible action, picks the one that’s the most beneficial to him. It’s the only way he’s survived alongside men like Kendall Roy.

Roman is everything that Stewy has coached himself to avoid. But he keeps coming back, again and again. It’s like having another addiction, but this one might be more likely to kill him than any amount of alcohol or cocaine.

 _You’re pathetic,_ he tells himself with a groan. Roman fucking Roy. Stewy wants to hate him so much it causes physical pain in his chest. 

Roman moves slightly, and Stewy tenses. Then he settles back down again, and Stewy lets out a breath.

He reaches out slowly towards Roman, as if approaching a nervous animal. His fingertips make contact with Roman’s back, and Roman sighs softly. He shifts back into Stewy’s touch, and Stewy closes his eyes.

When he wakes up in the morning, Roman is gone.

* * *

Conversations fill the air around them, loud laughter bouncing off the walls and reverberating around the room. There’s a glass of wine in his hand, and a million-dollar acquisition in front of him. Sandy is saying something about pivoting to tech. Stewy’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He jumps back into the conversation as he reaches for it.

“It sounds like Hunter might be trying to get into tech. I overheard him talking to Jacobson abo—”

Two words. _Your room._

Stewy clears his throat and puts his phone back in his pocket. “Apologies, gentlemen, but something just came up. I really have to take care of this.”

Sandy glances at the other men in their little circle and nods. “Sure, no worries.”

“Sorry about this. I’m sure I’ll come find you later. I’d love to continue this conversation. At dinner?”

They nod and say quick goodbyes. Stewy adjusts his jacket and heads out of the room, weaving his way through endless hallways and past conference room after conference room.

Roman is waiting for him outside his door, phone in hand.

“You couldn’t be a little more inconspicuous?” Stewy asks. “Standing right outside—” He cuts himself off as Roman looks up at him. “Holy shit, Rome. What—”

“It’s nothing.” Roman gingerly touches the red mark on his cheek. “I’m fine.”

Stewy gives him a once-over, checking for other signs of any kind of fight, but Roman looks as pristine as always, save for the extra shirt button undone. Stewy unlocks the door and ushers Roman inside, closing it quietly behind them.

“Rome?”

Roman has already wandered farther into the suite, dragging the toes of his shoes across the floor as he walks. He leans against the island in the kitchenette and crosses his arms. Stewy stands a safe distance away, taking him in.

The mark on his face is fresh. His cheek keeps twitching as if it still stings, and he’s looking away as if trying to hide it. Stewy approaches him carefully, wary of Roman lashing out at him. He gently reaches out for him and lifts his jaw. Roman lets Stewy turn his face to get a better look at the injury.

“Roman…” The question goes unasked.

“It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“Who?”

“No one. It was an accident. It wasn’t—I’m fine. I fucking, ah… ran into a doorframe. You know, I’m just an idiot.”

Stewy fetches ice from the freezer and a towel, wrapping it into an ice pack. He hands it over to Roman, who mutters a few indistinguishable insults, but holds it up to his cheek anyway. Stewy stands awkwardly off to the side.

“I’m guessing you saw what happened,” Roman says.

“Uh, yeah.” Stewy clears his throat. “The whole world saw.”

“Fuck,” Roman hisses. “And the panel?”

He nods. “I dropped in.”

“How bad was it?”

“For you? Not that bad,” he says honestly. “It was probably for the best that you, uh, hung back a little bit. Let Shiv and Kendall fight it out. Doesn’t make you the competent one, but definitely helped you from looking as incompetent as the rest of them.”

Roman curses again and shakes his head. His eyes are red. Stewy doesn’t comment. Roman pulls the ice pack away and lightly touches his fingertips to his cheek. The cold made his skin redder, but Stewy can tell it doesn’t hurt quite as much.

“Rome, come sit down,” he says cautiously. Roman looks as if he wants to protest, but he follows Stewy to the bed and sits down on the mattress. Stewy stands in front of him. “Let me see?”

“Yeah, sure, Dr. Hosseini.” Roman drops the ice pack and turns his head. Stewy lifts his jaw carefully and examines the mark. Someone hit him, and hard. Stewy has an inkling that he knows who it is, but he doesn’t want to make Roman any more defensive than he already is.

“It’ll be fine by tomorrow. I don’t think it’s gonna bruise.”

“When did you get a medical degree?”

“In between all of the drugs and alcohol and million-dollar business deals, I found a few free months to go to med school. Just add it to my endless list of accolades.”

“God, you’re fucking obnoxious,” Roman says softly. “I can always borrow Shiv’s makeup. Or yours,” he adds, a glint returning to his eye.

“Sure thing, asshole.” Stewy steps back, and Roman puts the ice back up to his face. “What happens now?”

Roman groans. “I don’t fucking know. I don’t… fuck. It could still blow over, right? Like, the article wasn’t _that_ bad. It wasn’t—they didn’t have any corroborating evidence. They’ve got the word of what, one chick from two decades ago? She can tell them all she wants about the orgies, but if there’s no proof, they can’t really do anything, right?”

“Orgies?”

“Of course that’s what you choose to hear.” Roman rolls his eyes. “I’m fucking joking, Stewy. I have no goddamn idea what was happening on those cruise ships.”

He stands back up and starts pacing. The ice is starting to melt through the towel, and he brings it back into the kitchen and drops the whole thing in the sink. Stewy makes himself comfortable on the bed, propping himself up against the pillows. 

“What do you think?” Roman asks as he returns.

“What do _I_ think?”

“Yeah, asshole. Got any wisdom?”

“I think this is the fucking Bay of Pigs, man.”

“For you or for us?”

“Well, first of all, fuck you. Second of all, my invasion hasn’t failed quite yet, has it? If your dad goes down on this Pierce deal, he’s done for. They aren’t going to like the looks of this, no matter how it actually plays out. Bad optics. Selling to Waystar immediately after they get caught up in a massive fucking scandal? I just—and this is me being a hundred percent objective—I don’t see it going through. I don’t know if your dad can hold this together. Shiv and Kendall certainly can’t. It’ll be a fun explosion to watch, though. I’ve always loved firework shows.” 

“Would you quit being an asshole? My family’s company is on the brink of fucking disaster, douchebag. This isn’t exactly the fucking time for you—”

“C’mon, Rome. I’m messing with you, alright?”

Roman continues like he didn’t hear Stewy speak, which in all likelihood, he didn’t. He’s mastered the art of selective hearing. “—and isn’t this partially, you know, your fucking fault?”

“I didn’t have anything to do with it, Roman. You know I wouldn’t hit you like that.”

“Right. Because you’re so fucking trustworthy.”

“You clearly trust me a little bit,” Stewy points out.

“No, I don’t.” Roman resumes pacing, and Stewy is fairly certain that he’s going to end up wearing a hole into the floor if he doesn’t cut it out soon.

“Roman.” Roman grunts in response, waving him away. “Rome. Roman. Romulus.”

“Fuck off.”

Roman chews at the corner of his thumbnail, eyes fixed on the carpet in front of him. He’s muttering under his breath, the way he does when his mind is racing too quickly for his mouth to catch up. Stewy shifts back against the pillows.

It’s not that he enjoys watching Roman have a nervous breakdown, but he does like watching the Roy family implode in on each other. It’s about damn time their empire came crumbling to the ground, he thinks, raising a silent toast to whoever or whatever is finally bringing them down. Roman will be better off for it. Kendall, too, he thinks, and there’s a slightly bitter taste in his mouth.

“I’m going to go to the stupid awards thing,” he says. Roman opens his mouth, and Stewy quickly adds, “I’m not asking you to go. Actually, don’t fucking go. Stay here. You can use my laptop, if you want. Watch cartoons.”

“Fuck you,” Roman says, but his voice is soft, almost grateful. “I’m gonna load it with the most vile porn you’ve ever fucking seen.”

“That’s a high bar.” Stewy smirks. Roman has relaxed just slightly, enough that it no longer looks like he’s about to burst a blood vessel. He unbuttons the top few buttons on his shirt and pushes a loose strand of hair out of his face. He hasn’t been using as much product lately—he doesn’t look quite so much like an older, darker Draco Malfoy anymore. Stewy makes a mental note not to mention how much he likes the messy look.

He gets up off the bed, and Roman takes his place. Stewy heads into the bathroom and fixes his hair, then changes his shirt and grabs a fresh jacket. Roman stares at his phone the entire time, a look of concentration on his face.

“Rome.”

“Hm.”

“I’ll be back later, alright?” He pulls the jacket on. “Text me if you need anything.”

“I’m a big boy, Stewy.” Roman looks up at him. “I can watch myself for a few hours while the babysitter’s away.” 

Stewy shakes his head. “Don’t drink all my booze.”

“Too late!” Roman calls after him after he walks out. “I'm chugging your vodka as we speak!”

* * *

Roman is still sitting up in bed, a TV show flashing across the laptop screen, when Stewy gets back. He hits pause and looks up as Stewy walks in.

“How bad was it?”

“Fucking massacre.” Stewy falls onto his stomach on the mattress. Roman shuts the laptop and looks down at him with vague interest. “They hit Waystar immediately. It was—look, Rome, this isn’t a personal attack on you, but _fuck_ it felt good to watch them go down.”

He can’t remember the last time that he experienced as much giddy joy as he did watching everyone laughing at Logan Roy’s expense. _It’s funny ‘cause it’s true,_ he had said—not the most clever comment he could have come up with, but it still succeeded in pissing off Logan.

Roman sets his phone to the side and rubs his eyes. “Dad’s not going to be happy.”

“He left. After a couple of jokes. Stormed right out. Fuck your dad, Rome.” Stewy pushes himself up onto his forearms and stretches his back. He feels Roman’s eyes traveling down from his shoulders to his legs. “Seriously. He’s—god, Roman. He’s a class-A douchebag. The man has no soul.”

“Do you?” Roman counters.

Stewy shrugs. “Arguably, no. But at least I still care about some people besides myself.” He looks at Roman, and there’s a beat of heavy silence.

Roman purses his lips, then shrugs and looks at the clock. “Can we just not fucking talk about him?”

“I’ve never been happier to fulfill one of your requests ever in my life.”

“Fuck you.”

Stewy hums and pushes himself up, moving between Roman’s legs. He drops his head down and presses a kiss to his neck. Roman tilts his head, and Stewy smiles. He pulls back to move his laptop and Roman’s phone to the bedside table, then returns his attention to Roman.

“Stewy.”

“Hm?”

“It’s falling through, isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“Pierce.”

Stewy sighs and pulls away, then sits up against the pillows next to Roman. He wants to lie, to say that it’s all going to be okay. That Nan Pierce is going to agree to sell her company to Logan fucking Roy, as if she was ever seriously considering it in the first place. That this is all going to get swept under the rug and that somehow Roman is going to come out on top.

“I think so,” he says quietly. “It didn’t look good.”

Rome drops his head into his hands and lets out a groan. Stewy, giving into his instincts for once, wraps an arm around his shoulders. Roman tenses but doesn’t shrug his arm off.

“Rome,” Stewy says. 

“It’s all a fucking disaster. It’s a fucking… _fuck_.” Roman beats his fist against the mattress. “You know they didn’t even fucking tell me? They knew. They fucking knew this shit was happening, and they fucking knew the story was coming for weeks, and I wasn’t told shit. I wasn’t told a goddamn thing about it.” He shakes his head. “Why the fuck am I being iced like this?”

“Rome,” he says again. “Listen. It’s—look, it’s probably better that you didn’t know.”

“Why the fuck—”

“It protects you,” Stewy interrupts. “You didn’t know. You had no idea what was going on. There’s going to be an investigation, and there’s going to be a lot of uncomfortable fucking questions about who knew what when. You’re going to be able to get out of it because you didn’t know. You can come out of this shit, Rome. You don’t have to go down with them.”

“But we’re fucking losing Pierce. So it’s all over either way.”

Stewy grabs Roman’s wrist and turns Roman to face him. Roman averts his eyes, but Stewy can tell his thoughts are moving a million miles an hour. Roman lets Stewy pull him over into his lap, his body tense but giving into Stewy’s touch.

“Roman,” he murmurs, cupping Roman’s jaw with one hand, the other still wrapped around his wrist. “Forget all of this shit, okay? For once, just don’t fucking think about it. You’re going to drive yourself goddamn insane.” He squeezes Roman’s wrist. “Rome, babe, look at me.”

Roman finally meets his gaze. Stewy leans in and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Roman lets out a soft breath and leans into Stewy.

“Forget about it,” Stewy whispers. Roman nods slowly. “You’ve got me.”

“It’s all a total fucking nightmare.” He hides his face against Stewy’s neck. “I don’t—I’m so fucking lost.”

The words sound as if they’re stabbing him in the throat. His breath is shaky, and Stewy can feel Roman’s pulse racing against his fingers. He cups his hand around the back of Roman’s neck and brushes his thumb over his skin. Roman shivers.

“Look, Rome.” Stewy takes a deep breath. “You can’t do anything else about it tonight. Tomorrow, you can go in there and try to figure out what the fuck is going on. But for now, it’s not worth driving yourself insane over.”

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t protest or make a snappy comment when Stewy presses his lips to his temple. “What do you need?” he asks gently.

“Preferably, a fucking horse tranquilizer.”

“I don’t know if I can get my hands on one of those.”

“I could. I have my ways.” Roman lifts his head up and sits back.

Stewy nods. “I’m sure.”

“Fuck you.”

“There he is.” Stewy leans in and kisses below his ear. “Relax,” he whispers, trailing kisses down Roman’s jaw.

“You’re the fucking devil.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“A demon. A very attractive, very annoying demon.”

“Very clever insults tonight, Romulus.”

“Suck a dick.”

“And now we’re returning to high school,” he teases. “You’re losing your touch.”

Roman falls over onto his side, landing with an _oof_ on the mattress. Stewy looks over at him and brushes a piece of hair out of his eyes. Roman makes a face and swats his hand away.

“What are you, gay or something?”

Stewy can’t help the relief he feels. Roman glares up at him, but there’s a spark behind his eyes that wasn’t there a few minutes ago. Stewy shakes his head. “For you? Fucking disgusting. I could do so much better.”

“You need an ego check.”

“My ego is just fine, thank you.”

“I’m a fucking catch. I’m desirable. Anyone would be lucky to have me, including you, Hosseini. I’m the hottest Roy sibling.”

Stewy quirks an eyebrow and bites his lip. “Well, I mean…”

“If you’re about to say Kendall is hotter than me, I will fucking cut your dick off, cocksucker.”

“I was gonna say Shiv.”

Roman mimics puking. “Ew. Ew. _Ew._ Don’t talk about my sister like that, you disgusting little creep. Get her out of your brain. It’s dark and scary in there. She doesn’t belong there, Stewy. Let her out!”

“I can say with high confidence that you are the most annoying Roy sibling.” Stewy leans down and kisses him. Roman kisses him back, but mutters something under his breath that Stewy doesn’t quite catch as they pull away.

Roman has relaxed, his shoulders no longer tensed and his jaw no longer clenched, but his eyes are still red and a little shiny. Stewy bites his tongue before he can say something about Roman’s family that he would never be able to take back. Roman will accept a lot of shit from Stewy, but there are some lines they just don’t cross.

He wishes he could tell Roman exactly how he feels. He wishes that he could tell Roman that he’s smarter than the rest of them put together, that Waystar doesn’t fucking deserve him, that Logan Roy can fuck off and go die in a hole and never put any of his children through this shit ever again. Looking at the mark on Roman’s cheek, Stewy wonders how many times it’s happened before. He wonders just how much shit Roman has gone through that he has no idea about. He wonders how easily he could get away with it if he hired a hit man to kill Logan Roy. He knows a few guys who could probably broker a deal for him.

“I don’t like when you think about things,” Roman says, breaking the silence. “It gives me the fucking creeps.”

Stewy laughs softly and brushes Roman’s hair back. This time, he doesn’t push him away.

“Wanna tell me what’s going on inside that hollow head of yours?” Roman asks. Stewy continues carding his fingers through Roman’s hair, and Roman’s eyes flutter shut.

“Not really.”

“Keeping secrets?”

“Several.”

Roman hums. “I’ll keep my secrets too, then.”

“You’re welcome to.” The corner of Stewy’s mouth twitches up. “I’m sure you’re full of them.”

“Just a few.” Roman opens his eyes and moves his head, and Stewy drops his hand onto the mattress. “I have to stay interesting somehow.”

“Trust me, Rome, you’re plenty interesting.”

“I feel like that was a poorly veiled insult.” Roman looks up at him. “Were you insulting me, douchebag?”

“Always.” Stewy nods.

“Fuck you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Stewy ignores the warmth in his chest. “You gonna get some sleep there, asshole?”

“Considering it.” Roman moves closer to him and presses his face against Stewy’s side. Stewy steadies his breath as he looks down at him. Roman’s eyes are shut again, and he looks perfectly content. Stewy swallows down the lump in his throat, and Roman’s voice asks, “You alright?”

“Me?” Stewy shakes his head. “I’m fine. Why?”

Roman shrugs, cracking one eye open. “Not sure how beneficial buying Waystar will be if we’re caught up in a fucking scandal.”

“I thought we weren’t talking about it anymore.”

“We’re not.” Roman stretches out his legs, then settles back down. “I’m just saying.”

Stewy shakes his head. “Get some sleep, Rome. You’ve had a rough day.”

“Fuck you,” Roman tries, but it’s punctuated with a yawn. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, you are. You’re at a hundred percent. You could run up a fucking mountain.”

“Yeah, asswipe, I could.”

Stewy rolls his eyes fondly and grabs his phone again. As he scrolls through his texts, Roman shifts against him, making himself comfortable. Stewy resists the urge to drape an arm over him or go back to messing with his hair; he knows one wrong move could send Roman retreating to the other side of the mattress. Instead, he keeps his arms out of the way as much as he can. When he looks down again, Roman is passed out, eyelids fluttering lightly and chest moving up and down rhythmically.

Stewy plugs his phone in and sets it on the nightstand, then reaches for the lamp to turn it off. Sitting in the darkness once again, he takes a moment to breathe in and out, steadying his racing heart. He carefully lays down, pulling the sheets up over them. Roman’s head settles against his chest. The weight is strange and familiar at the same time. It’s comforting. Stewy adjusts his arm around Roman and risks pulling him just a hair closer.

Roman mumbles something, and Stewy murmurs, “Goodnight, Rome.”

For the second morning in a row, the bed is empty when Stewy’s alarm goes off. This time, there’s a paper folded up on the other pillow, Roman’s messy scrawl in the middle of it.

_Thanks. I owe you a drink. See you in New York?_

Stewy folds it back up and presses his mouth to the paper, then lets out a soft sigh.

Roman Roy is going to be the death of him. What a way to go.

**Author's Note:**

> as usual, my second fic for a pairing is over 4 times longer than the first one and i amped up the yearning as much as possible. i'm going to ignite the stewyroman revolution if it's the last thing i do. leave kudos and comments if you enjoyed and follow me on tumblr @vaguelyprophetic


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